Comeback
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Roarke and Leslie recruit two of her friends to help a fan of a defunct heavy-metal band try to get them together for a reunion performance, while Rogan ventures to grant his first fantasy entirely without help from Roarke. Follows 'Explanations'
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_I finished this one quicker than I thought I would. There's plenty of humor in it; I think I needed to write a lighter piece to counteract all the heavy emotions I dealt with in the last few stories. I hope you get some laughs from this one; enjoy!_

* * *

§ § § - June 27, 2009

Leslie was almost used to their odd new threesome by now: herself, Roarke and Rogan, waiting at the plane dock for their guests to start disembarking. Rogan had made it a habit to wear that black T-shirt proclaiming him "Fantasy Island staff"; Leslie had noticed more than one disapproving look from Roarke, but Rogan simply ignored them all and went blithely on his way. Out of deference to her father, Leslie wore her usual black-trimmed white pantsuit or dress with jacket; lately she had taken to wearing the pantsuit, as her abdomen was still not entirely flat from her recent pregnancy and she had a sneaking feeling that at her age, it never really would be again. The pantsuit was usually more comfortable.

"Well, here we go, uncle," said Rogan, his brogue out in full force and his eye on the disembarkation ramp, where an awed-looking man who appeared to be in Leslie's age bracket was just emerging from the seaplane's hatch. "Me first stand-alone fantasy. Are ye sure this'll really work?"

"Still doubting yourself, Rogan?" Roarke chided. "You seem to consistently forget that you were born with the same powers as I, and I've shown you how to operate the time-travel room and its powers. There's no reason you can't handle this fantasy entirely on your own; you know you'll have to do this alone in the not-so-distant future, every weekend."

Rogan let out a sigh. "Aye, uncle, I know...but 'tis glad I am that ye're still around to check up on me work."

"You could try introducing us to this guy," suggested Leslie, "and that'll get you started right there."

Rogan gave her a dirty look that met with a grin, and sighed again before turning his attention to their guest. "That's Matthew Drake, from Philadelphia—which, if I have me American history right, was the adopted hometown of the man he wants to meet this weekend: Benjamin Franklin."

"Oh, that's a good start," said Leslie brightly.

"Shut up," Rogan sniped, rolling his eyes.

Leslie sighed. "Rogan, really...I'm trying to encourage you here."

"That's enough," said Roarke. "You sound like a pair of bickering siblings. Is there a specific period in Mr. Franklin's life that Mr. Drake wishes to witness?"

"Aye—he says he wants to know if that whole business with the kite in the thunderstorm really happened, or if it's one o'those legends like Washington an' the cherry tree," Rogan explained.

Leslie shuddered a little. "Ugh. Better you supervise that fantasy than me." Roarke chuckled when Rogan gave her an even dirtier look, which went unnoticed since she now had her attention on the plane dock again. "And who's this guy?"

"Mr. Colin Matney, from Asheville, North Carolina. Believe it or not, Rogan, you have the easier of this weekend's fantasies to oversee."

"Aye?" Rogan prompted skeptically.

Roarke nodded. "I don't know about you, Rogan, but Leslie, you may be more familiar with a heavy-metal band known as Shock Treatment."

Leslie nodded. "They were really big in the late 70s and through the 80s. Camille used to listen to them all the time, and they're still one of her favorites. They broke up around 1992 or so, just about the time grunge music was starting to really explode."

Roarke nodded. "Mr. Matney was also a devoted fan of Shock Treatment's music. At the time the band went defunct, its members had grown tired of the project and, it is said, of one another. All five of them went their separate ways shortly after their last album was released, and they have not seen or contacted one another since then; there is reportedly a great deal of animosity amongst them. And that will make Mr. Matney's fantasy very difficult indeed, for he hopes to reunite the band members for one concert here on the island."

"Oh boy," Leslie murmured. "Good luck with that!" She exchanged a glance with her father before his wineglass arrived and he raised it in the weekly toast, while Rogan shoved his hands into his pockets and Leslie wondered whether she should talk to Camille.

At the main house, Leslie could hear the energetic wailing of Anastasia from upstairs; the older children must have heard them come in, for Susanna and Tobias both came galloping down the stairs. "Mommy, Anastasia's screaming!" Tobias announced unnecessarily.

"I'm not deaf, son, I hear her," Leslie assured him. Noelle came down then with the baby, while Karina trailed her, hands over her ears.

"Sorry, Miss Leslie," said Noelle, wincing. "She started crying like this about ten minutes ago, and I couldn't do anything to soothe her."

"That's because she's hungry," Leslie said with resignation, tossing Roarke a look that made him chuckle. "Well, I'll go ahead and feed her while you two are making the last few preparations. Good thing we've got half an hour before the first appointment."

"Can we go to the beach _now_, Noelle, please?" Susanna wheedled hopefully.

"That came up ten minutes ago too," Noelle said, fielding Leslie's surprised look as she lifted the wailing baby from the young sitter's arms. "Almost as soon as Anastasia started crying. I wanted to be sure it was okay with you."

"It'll be fine," said Leslie. "I'll be in here for the rest of the morning, so if you and the kids want to go, you're free to leave whenever you want."

The triplets cheered, and Noelle grinned, hurrying back upstairs to pack a tote bag with sunscreen and towels. Leslie sent Karina to the kitchen to get some water bottles from Mariki, directed Susanna and Tobias to wait on the loveseat, and hurried up the stairs with Anastasia, whose shrieking bid fair to deafen them all by now. The baby had just turned two months old, and the family was still waiting for her to smile.

It took Anastasia about twenty minutes to decide she was finished, and Leslie burped her, then settled the yawning infant in her bassinet, stroking the tufts of hair that were trying to cover her scalp. Leslie pressed a little kiss to the baby's cheek, straightened her clothing and returned downstairs, just in time for the foyer door to open and admit Matthew Drake. Roarke gestured at Rogan, an upraised palm extended in his direction, as if to say, _He's all yours._ Rogan cleared his throat noisily, greeted Drake and asked him some questions, then led him to the time-travel room and ushered him inside before stepping in behind him. As he turned toward them to close the door, he threw them both a fulminating look, before the door shut him away.

"Not ticked off much, are you, Callaghan?" Leslie remarked, rolling her eyes.

Roarke chuckled. "He'll get used to it. One day, when he turns everything over to Rory, he may even find he misses it. Since I'm leaving this fantasy entirely up to Rogan, and since it's quite straightforward, I think it's best if you assist me with the Matney fantasy."

"I'm thinking about calling Camille," Leslie observed. "I mentioned at the plane dock that she's a big Shock Treatment fan too."

"Do you think you'll need some manner of assistance from her?" Roarke asked.

"I don't know. But she probably knows a lot about the group; I could always ask her some trivia questions and see what she knows."

"You could do the same of Mr. Matney," Roarke noted, amused. "However, since the last two members of the band have yet to arrive in any case, I asked Mr. Matney to wait till eleven this morning to come speak with us. That would give you time to pay a call on Camille and ask her the questions you have for her."

Leslie agreed, and gave Camille a quick phone call to let her know. Camille turned out to be out having breakfast with Myeko, prior to their catching the shuttle bus to the ferry terminal so they could do some shopping at the Air Force base; so she joined them at the café in the town square, grinning at their stacks of pancakes. "Hungry, are we?"

"We need fortification for this strenuous shopping trip," said Myeko, making them all laugh. "I thought you'd be busy with the fantasies."

"Half right," said Leslie. "I'm working with Father on only one of them. This is his first weekend giving Rogan complete charge of a fantasy."

Myeko and Camille looked at each other. "Uh-oh, better batten down the hatches," said Camille with a grin. "You never know what he'll blow up."

"Be quiet, you," said Leslie, grinning. "It's a pretty simple one, as these things go. Just a time-travel fantasy. Father walked him through the process before he ever turned him loose on this fantasy...so I'm told, anyway."

"Now we're in trouble," said Myeko, straight-faced. Leslie elbowed her and she let out a grunt. "Okay, okay, I take it back! So what're you really doing here?"

"Well, Camille, I think this'll excite you," Leslie said. "The fantasy I'm working with Father on...well, this guy's here to see if he can get Shock Treatment to reunite, just for one concert here on the island."

Camille's mouth and eyes popped wide. "Seriously? Shock Treatment?"

"You know they've been broken up for, what, almost twenty years now?" Myeko reminded her.

"We know that," Leslie said. "Like I said, this guy's trying to reunite them. We know they split up hating each other and all that, but I figured you'd know more than anyone else around here, so I thought I'd come over and pick your brain."

"Oh, I see," said Camille, grinning, and settled back. "Well, it's true. Once they broke up the band, they got as far away from each other as they could get, according to all the magazine reports. They're scattered all over the mainland US, and they all have careers that have nothing to do with music, at least so far as I know. There was a big ruckus out of the fan base. Their biggest fan club still exists, but they run more on nostalgia than anything else nowadays. I was a member for years. Every once in a while, some magazine or celebrity TV tabloid runs a 'where are they now?' bit, and you'll see one or another of the members in it. Sometimes you get all five. Last time I saw one of those, the lead singer had just become a grandfather for the tenth time. Kinda hard to believe."

Myeko laughed. "Hard to imagine any of those long-haired headbangers being a grandparent. Taro and Tomi used to listen to their stuff a lot. Typical heavy-metal types with the studded dog collars and leather pants, and no shirts, and all that. I think back in the 70s, they even wore platform shoes, till those went out of style."

"They didn't wear makeup like Kiss?" Leslie asked, half joking.

"No, that wasn't their thing. They did make it a trademark to wear these distinctive headbands around their foreheads, in different designs. One guy—the drummer, I think—wore one of those Japanese-flag-style rising-sun things, and another one wore plain old black, and another guy had his imprinted with glow-in-the-dark orange flames. Their stuff was rough and tough and wild—the louder, the better." Camille let her gaze drift into space. "Boy, what I wouldn't give to see those guys in concert. I never got the chance."

"Well, if things work out this weekend, you might get that chance," Leslie said.

Camille made a face. "Don't bet on it. Toward the end there was a lot of infighting in the group. Grunge was just emerging and a couple of the guys wanted to switch their style, the rest didn't. It started out like that, and then it boiled over into disagreement over almost everything else they could think of, and next thing you know, this great band fell apart and dropped off the face of the earth. From what I hear, they still hate each other."

"That's not good," Leslie muttered. "That'll be some challenge."

Camille peered thoughtfully at her, then seemed to come to a decision. "Tell you what. As soon as Myeko and I get back from our trip, I'll give you a call. Maybe I can dig up my old Shock Treatment scrapbook—I used to keep one of those things, and if my mother didn't pitch it back in my college years, it should still be in my parents' house somewhere. If you need any help at all with this thing, let me know."

Leslie grinned; Myeko snorted. "You'll do anything to get into a fantasy, huh?"

"So would you, and all the rest of the gang too, so button your lip, Okada," Camille returned in the same teasing spirit. "Whaddaya think, Leslie?"

"Sure, go ahead," she agreed. "If I don't answer my cell, I'll be busy, so just leave me a message and I'll get around to it when I can. We don't even see the guest for almost two more hours since we're still waiting for the rest of the band members to get here, so I figured it was a good chance to talk with you. How long do you two plan to be gone?"

"We'll probably come back after lunch," Myeko said. "So she can call you then."

Leslie agreed, wished them an enjoyable shopping trip and departed, making her usual detour into Christian's office a few doors down from the café. It crossed her mind to realize that she'd miss this if they had to leave the island, and she had to bury it in the back of her mind before she would allow herself to go inside.

To her surprise, there was mild chaos; everyone was gathered in the middle of the room, bent over something. They all turned to stare as the bell on the door jangled, and smiles broke out on all faces, including Christian's. "Leslie, my Rose! Come over here and see Julianne's baby!"

Leslie was reminded for the first time that Julianne had been scheduled to give birth in April, and came up beside Christian to see an adorable infant snoozing peacefully in a stroller under a colorful lightweight blanket. Julianne, still on maternity leave, was beaming with pride, and lit up still more at sight of Leslie. "Hey, there you are! Meet Mallory Pearl Ryerson—dropped in on us back on April 17."

"What a cutie!" Leslie said, admiring the baby. "And only nine days older than our Anastasia. How perfect is that?"

"I know, Boss Prince told me—isn't that cool? In a few years they could be best friends in school!" Julianne said enthusiastically, making Leslie bite her lip and force back the reminder. "I'm so glad you got to see her—this is the first chance I've had to get out since Mallory was born. I hope you bring Anastasia in here eventually so I get to meet her too." She squatted beside the stroller and softly tickled Mallory's chin; the baby squirmed but slept on. "I was just telling Boss Prince he might have to hire a part-timer even after I come back. I hate the idea of leaving Mallory in some day-care place or with a sitter or something. I mean, heck...I know my niece or some of her friends would be happy to stay with her, but you kind of get this...you know, possessive feeling."

Leslie grinned. "I know what you mean. She's so adorable. Um...not to run off or anything, but Christian, my love...how's it going around here?"

He pulled her aside so they could speak a bit more privately. "We've been distracted by the baby, but it's light, so I figure we can afford to loaf for a while. What sort of fantasies do you have?" Leslie gave him a quick summary, and he lifted a brow at mention of the defunct band. "Shock Treatment? I seem to recall that band being among Rudolf's repertoire as he was growing up. But I always heard they split up on less than amiable terms."

"They did, which is going to make this fantasy a real challenge," Leslie conceded. "But Camille was a big fan of theirs too—I just talked with her and Myeko in the café—and she mentioned she might still have the scrapbook she kept on them when we were in high school. She's going to look for it and give me a call."

Christian nodded. "I see. In my experience, a girl doesn't keep a scrapbook about any celebrity unless she has a crush, so I imagine she had a thing for one of the members." He grinned when she snickered, and drew her into a hug. "I'll probably work just half a day here; I have some website-design projects that I can as easily do anywhere as here in the office. I'll join you for lunch and then be around to keep an eye on Anastasia. Speaking of whom—where is she now?"

"Napping at the main house. I should get back there, but Father's there waiting to hear about the arrival of those last two band members, among other things, so she's not unsupervised. Noelle took the triplets to the beach once we got back from the plane dock."

"All right then. I'll see you and the children at lunch," Christian promised and kissed her. "I'm glad you stopped in—you haven't done that very much of late."

She hunched her shoulders a little guiltily. "You're right. Well, I'll try to remedy that. Maybe next time I'll bring Anastasia in and everybody can fawn over her the way they're hanging all over Miss Mallory Pearl Ryerson there."

He laughed and hugged her. "I think everyone would appreciate it. Well enough, my Rose, then have a good morning, and you can give me an update at lunch."

She returned to the main house long enough to check on Anastasia, who to her surprise was wide awake. "Well, hi there! How about you come with Mommy to meet the next plane, huh, sweetie?" She tickled Anastasia under the chin as she had seen Julianne do with Mallory, and to her overjoyed astonishment, Anastasia squirmed and suddenly chortled.

Leslie gasped and lifted the baby from the bassinet, beaming at her. "Was that funny? Come see Grandfather, I bet he'd like to see you smile!"

Roarke brightened as well when the baby reacted the same way to Leslie's chin tickle in front of him. "Make sure you do that for Christian too," he suggested with a smile.

"I plan to, of course," she said, surprised at this comment. "Why do you say that?"

He sighed gently. "You and I need to find time for a talk, but unfortunately this isn't the moment. Go ahead and meet the next plane—but once you've settled our guests, come back here. I'll need you to get ahead on some paperwork while I make a discreet check on Rogan's fantasy, just to be certain it's going smoothly."

"Where's Rogan himself?" Leslie asked.

"He returned to the greenhouse after he sent Mr. Drake back to meet Benjamin Franklin, but it's past time he came back. He has a way of forgetting himself among his plants." His smile was wry; Leslie laughed and took a key from the gold box on the desk, then secured Anastasia in the car seat that had been installed in one of the rovers and drove to the plane dock.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - June 27, 2009

When she'd taken the latest arrival to the hotel, she returned to the main house, where she found Roarke speaking with another older man, this one with a well-groomed mustache that had already turned white, long ahead of his salt-and-pepper hair. He was tall and a little too thin, except for a paunch that formed a perfect little mound under the T-shirt that shouted, ANARCHY NOW! "I'm tellin' ya, Mr. Roarke, I saw The Shawk and Crashah over at the restaurant not an hour ago, havin' breakfast! Whatta they doin' here?"

"Mr. Wellborn, please calm yourself," Roarke said, rising. "I am not entirely sure whom you refer to when you speak of 'The Shark' and 'Crasher', but if indeed you did see them at the restaurant, please be advised that they have every bit as much right as you to be on the island."

"Well, I don't care," Wellborn snapped, his heavy New York accent oozing off every word. "Maybe I coulda written it off as a co-inky-dink if I'd seen one of 'em, but _both_ of 'em? Somethin' fishy's goin' on here, and I wanna know what the story is."

Leslie edged around the irate visitor, smoothing Anastasia's hair in the hope that his yelling wouldn't rouse her. "Be right back, Father, I'm putting Anastasia in for her latest nap." Roarke nodded and she made her escape, dawdling for a moment till she no longer heard the yelling, then venturing back down. Wellborn was gone, but as Leslie descended the last few steps, the door opened and admitted Colin Matney, accompanied by Camille, who was carrying a large binder with papers sticking out of it in all directions. They were in the middle of an animated conversation, which came to an abrupt halt when they emerged into the foyer and saw Roarke.

"Good morning, Mr. Matney," Roarke said, shaking hands, "and hello, Camille—it's quite a surprise to see you here."

"Aw, well, I was coming over to give Leslie some info, and I met Mr. Matney in front of the house. He asked about my binder and we started talking about Shock Treatment."

Colin Matney grinned. "Never thought I'd meet another fan who still wishes the guys'd get back together. So are they all here yet?"

Roarke nodded, resuming his seat while Leslie settled into the computer chair and Matney and Camille filled the leather chairs. "The last band member arrived within the last half hour; Leslie picked him up and delivered him to the hotel. Unfortunately, I have already seen evidence that your mission to reunite Shock Treatment will be a difficult one indeed."

Matney and Camille looked at each other, and Camille said, "Y'know, I thought that looked like The Rebel stomping up the lane."

"The Rebel?" Leslie repeated.

Camille grinned at her and got up to give her the binder. "By some miracle I actually found my old Shock Treatment scrapbook. Here, take a look."

While Colin Matney explained to Roarke how he'd become a Shock Treatment fan and the impact the band's breakup had had on him, Camille pointed out a particular article to Leslie. "This should tell you anything you need to know. It came out at the time they announced the band was going defunct. Stage names, real names, ages, history, origins, a full discography, the whole thing."

Leslie soon found that "The Rebel" was none other than their irate guest, Ronald Wellborn; Bill Wade, the man she had picked up at the plane dock, had gone by the stage name of "Electrifier". "Crasher" had been born Peter Boniface, and "The Shark's" real name was Gordon Hammer. The lead singer, a Mark Irizarry, had taken on the moniker "Howling Mark". All five had been born in or around New York City, where the band had begun before moving to Los Angeles and seeing their career take off, around 1976.

"So what was The Rebel doing here, Mr. Roarke?" they heard Colin Matney ask.

"That's what I meant by my statement when you arrived. Mr. Wellborn—or, as you refer to him, The Rebel—is already aware that Mr. Boniface and Mr. Hammer are on the island, through having spotted them at the restaurant."

"If he saw them there, then they must have seen each other," Leslie put in.

"No, apparently not; Mr. Wellborn stated that Mr. Boniface was on one side of the room and Mr. Hammer on the other." Roarke turned back to Matney. "Since they are all staying in the hotel and this is not, in the end, a large island—and since there are five of them—sooner or later they are all bound to discover that the entire band is here. I am given to understand that they split up the band amid a great deal of animosity, which has apparently persisted through the years since. Do you have a plan of any kind for bringing them together to discuss this reunion you hope for so avidly?"

Colin Matney cleared his throat and let his eyes roam all over the room for several seconds, then reluctantly met Roarke's gaze again. "Well, uh...no."

Camille looked on with wide-open fascination while Leslie, still carrying the scrap-book, got up and paused beside Roarke's desk. "How do you expect this to happen, then? I don't suppose you were planning on using your appeal as one of the world's top-ten Shock Treatment fans, were you?"

Matney turned crimson and essayed a ridiculous little grin. "Well, maybe something like that. I guess I...well, now that I'm actually thinking about it, maybe I could meet up with each of the guys separately. Ask for their autographs, maybe, and then kinda ease into reminiscing about the good times they had with the band..." He noticed the looks Roarke and Leslie exchanged. "Well, c'mon, they had to've had _some_ good times, right? Otherwise the band wouldn't've lasted as long as it did."

Leslie shrugged a shoulder in concession. "Okay, I'll give you that. What else?"

"Well, maybe ask them a little bit about what they've been doing, their families...you know, stuff like that. Small talk. Ask 'em if they think reunion tours are a cool idea or just a stupid fad." He shrugged and tried to look appealing.

Camille had edged closer to the desk as he was talking, and now she put in, "You know, our friend writes for the island newspaper. Maybe we could recruit her to do some informal interviews with the guys, and they could come out in tomorrow morning's paper."

"Hey, that's a great idea," Matney blurted. "If she came with both of us as fans, then I guess the guys'd kinda have to cave in and at least talk to us, huh?"

Roarke cleared his throat, just loudly enough to get their attention, and said, "Bear in mind that all five men believe they have been invited here on the house for a short vacation, and that each one is here without any knowledge of the presence of his four former bandmates. Or at least, they were until Mr. Wellborn spied Mr. Hammer and Mr. Boniface."

"They're going to meet up soon enough as it is," Leslie said. "If you want to make a success out of all this, Mr. Matney, you might have to lock these guys into one room together and hope like crazy that there aren't any dead bodies when you open it again."

Camille snickered; Matney reddened again and grinned foolishly. "Well, I tell ya what, it'll be worth it if they'll just bury hatchets long enough to do a concert. I never got to see them live, and I always wished they'd do a reunion tour so I could have the chance."

"You and me both, bud," Camille agreed fervently.

Roarke nodded. "Very well, then, Mr. Matney, I will grant you your fantasy."

"Just be warned," Leslie added with a trace of a smile, "we're not responsible for any injuries or deaths sustained in possible arguments or out-and-out fights."

Matney nodded. "Right, right. Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Roarke." He bounced out of his chair and ran out.

"You were kidding about the injuries-and-deaths bit, right?" Camille asked.

"Nope," said Leslie blithely. "Were you thinking of helping this guy? Because if you are, this might be a good time to get hold of Myeko."

Camille eyed her dubiously for another five or six seconds before shaking her head, pulling out her cell phone and putting through a call to Myeko. It was clear that she was enthusiastic, for Camille's big grin gave it away.

"Incidentally, Leslie," Roarke said, "I suggest you be present at this...series of improvised interviews. While the resort may not be responsible for deaths or injuries, it would nonetheless be in our best interests to prevent any such events from taking place."

Camille's mouth fell open at his dry delivery; Leslie just grinned. "Message received, Father. Well, Camille, let's go talk to Myeko."

‡ ‡ ‡

"You are not," Christian said, staring at his wife in the middle of lunch. She had just finished explaining that she, Camille, Myeko and Colin Matney were all going to be in on the "interviews" Matney planned to hold with the former Shock Treatment members. "Does it really take four of you to handle that? Doesn't Mr. Roarke need you for something?"

"Are you afraid one of those guys will try to seduce me or something?" asked Leslie, genuinely puzzled. "I don't get your objection."

Christian noticed that Roarke and Rogan were both peering quizzically at him too, and made a little "ahem" noise. "My nephew used to see articles all the time that referred to the, uh, sexual escapades of the various band members."

"Maybe they've reformed," Rogan said.

"Even if they haven't, I'm not remotely interested, just so you know," Leslie said with a grin at Christian. "As if you didn't. Camille got in on it because she and Mr. Matney seem to have developed sort of a rapport as fellow Shock Treatment fans, and Myeko's the newspaper reporter, so they need her expertise at teasing answers out of celebrities."

"But why do they need you there?" Christian asked.

"Technically, they don't, I'll concede to that. I just can't figure out why you're objecting so strenuously," she said.

Christian sighed. "Because of Anastasia. She may not be the glutton she was a few weeks ago, but she does still need to be fed every four to five hours—and I don't think I'd want you having to accommodate her in the middle of one of those interviews."

"Oh, that's it," Leslie said and snickered. "Well, I admit, it's not necessary for me to be there, and I'm not even sure I want to be. After all, this is Colin Matney's thing, not mine. I suppose I let Camille and Myeko dragoon me into agreeing to go with them."

"Don't," Christian said. "I'd rather you were here. Even Mr. Roarke isn't with a guest all the time, now, is he?"

"Not usually, though it _has_ happened," said Leslie, thinking back to a certain Lisa Corday and her nightmarish encounter with the ghost of Elizabeth Bathorý almost thirty years before. "But that's only under special circumstances, which I admit, these aren't."

Roarke cleared his throat, and they all looked at him. "Christian, perhaps you didn't understand what Leslie told you when she first explained where she would be this afternoon. As second-in-command here, she carries enough weight, legally speaking, that her presence should be enough to deter any possible injurious circumstances."

"Perhaps in that case you should have sent her to the pineapple plantation when they used to have all those brawls, before the original house was burned down," Christian said, the brow aiming for his hairline. "If her presence is that influential..."

"Och, uncle, maybe it's ye who should be there instead," Rogan remarked, grinning. "I seem to remember in any case that ye wanted to prod these two into airin' some things they haven't discussed yet."

"Christian and Leslie's issues are not yours to ponder. You have your own fantasy to worry about, Rogan," Roarke admonished him, while Christian and Leslie glanced at each other in startled surprise. "You haven't checked up on Mr. Drake at all yet, have you?"

"No, uncle, but then again, ye've yet to show me how to decode that damn electronic lock ye insist on hangin' off the door to that little room. Once I've mastered that, then I've no problem with doin' a checkup. Say the word when ye're ready."

Roarke agreed, and while the rest of the lunch conversation veered to other topics, Christian and Leslie said less than they might have, both glancing a little skittishly at each other, each privately wondering what grievances the other might have with them and both speculating as to what issues Roarke was referring to. Rogan and Roarke themselves talked about odds and ends, and the triplets chattered away as they always did, oblivious to the atmosphere between their parents.

It was almost another hour before Roarke had Christian and Leslie settled in the study; by then Noelle had taken the triplets off to the children's wading pool for a while, and Anastasia had been fed and settled down for another nap. After Roarke had demonstrated the electronic lock to Rogan three times and finally gotten the younger man to master its intricacies, he sent Rogan back to check on the Drake fantasy and carefully closed the door before taking a seat across from his daughter and son-in-law.

"What issues do you think we have?" Leslie asked her father, straight out, before he could open the discussion.

Roarke drew in a long breath, as though savoring the very action, and focused on her. "I refuse to beat around the bush; as you are well aware, my days are numbered—" her face paled at this— "and I believe I have the right to get directly to the point. Your reaction just now, Leslie, merely reinforces my sense of urgency in this matter." He leaned forward and gazed hard at her. "What order, precisely, do your life's priorities reside in?"


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - June 27, 2009

Shock filled her face; Christian shifted in his seat, glanced at Roarke and remarked, "That's interesting you should ask; my brother had the same question for her a few months ago. So you see something in her actions that suggests she still hasn't resolved that?"

"It's subtle. If you haven't noticed it, I can attribute it only to a lack of observation, or an unwillingness to rehash what appear to be old issues, or simply a coping mechanism on your part. Unfortunately, I have noticed ever since you returned to the island that Leslie's mind is primarily focused on this job and my encroaching departure."

Leslie was trembling by now, so Christian slid an arm around her shoulders, trying to soften the blow. "It's all right, my Rose, just tell him the truth, and we can work this out together, all three of us."

She glanced at him, reached for the hand that hung over her shoulder and linked her fingers with his, as if sustaining herself with his quiet calm; then she turned to Roarke and her expression grew stony, her eyes chilly. "Since you clearly expect a certain answer from me, then I'll tell you exactly what you want to hear. Right now, my priority is wondering what's going to happen to me after you're gone."

She felt Christian flinch a little, and tightened her fingers around his, but never took her gaze off Roarke, who sat back, disappointment in his eyes. "As I feared." His regard shifted to Christian, and he went on, "I noticed your reaction just now. She already put you through a difficult time several months ago, when she was wholly fixated on brooding over the fate of her life and livelihood here. I think you still feel that she is needlessly focused on the same issue, to the exclusion of all else."

Christian tugged at his hand, but she refused to let loose; in fact, she turned to him, wounded. "You just said to tell the truth and we'd work it out together, and I can feel you trying to withdraw. Don't do what you did in February—now that I look back at it, I think your retreat from me contributed to the rift between us."

Christian stared at her, blinked slowly once as he absorbed her words, let his eyes slip out of focus as he considered them. Then he sighed and relaxed. "You have a point. I suppose I didn't try hard enough to get through. But it was difficult, Leslie, when you didn't seem to respond to my efforts. Even the most patient and persistent person can't hold out forever when there's no response. I may have given up too soon; but if I hadn't, how long would it have taken you to let me through and tell me exactly what you were feeling?"

She bit her lip and dropped her eyes, staring blindly in the direction of Roarke's desk. "I know, mostly it was my fault, but I don't think the blame can rest solely on me. I guess the trouble here is that I'm doing it again, at least according to Father. I don't know how long it would have taken. Maybe you would have had to do what you did that day, the day Michiko came to the castle and you asked where it left you, if it took her presence to lift my mood like that. In the end, I think you did exactly what you had to do."

"So what you're telling me is, if I had said something like that sooner, perhaps there would have been less of a gulf between us?" Christian asked.

Leslie met his gaze and nodded a few times. "I think so. It...it kind of felt like nobody understood, not even you, and then when Carl Johan and Anna-Laura ganged up on me and made sure I knew exactly how they felt about my brooding..."

Christian nodded. "They did it because they were hurt, Leslie. Not as much as I, to be sure, but they were. More than that, they were afraid you were endangering our marriage and everything that holds us together. I suppose they feel protective of me, since I'm the youngest, and while I might sometimes resent that, I know ultimately that it means they care about me. They care about you too. Believe me, if they didn't, they never would have come down on you as they did. It may seem mixed up to you, my Rose, but their hurt and their anger toward you mean that they consider you a family member, and they wanted to be sure you saw exactly what you were doing, so that it wouldn't happen again."

"Yet now you're repeating history, Leslie," Roarke put in then, startling them both so that they whipped around to stare at him. "If Christian hasn't seen it, perhaps he merely wished not to disturb the status quo: but I've noticed signs, nearly every day since your return. Your extreme anger at the tribunal's actions—for which I don't blame you in the main, but at times you went...'over the top', I believe the colloquialism has it. Your equally strong reaction to the fact that I am required to step down from my current position and let Rogan take over. Your ongoing resentment of having been replaced in your position as my assistant, even if only temporarily. And—you may not even have realized it yourself—your renewed anxiety every time even the smallest reminder of what is to come presents itself. Leslie, you brood far too much over what has not yet occurred. I suspect this goes back much farther than you know. Did your mother ever tell you anything about her fantasy and the promise she extracted from me before you were born?"

While Christian watched with fascination, Leslie gaped at Roarke. "I...no, she never said a word. Not even one. I didn't know anything about it till that pussyfooting lawyer finally got around to reading her will, and that was over two months after the fire."

Roarke nodded. "I suspect your mother knew about that tendency in you to obsess over some future event that you know will lead to a change in your life, and chose not to tell you about it precisely because of that."

"In a way," Christian said slowly, "I do feel that you're focusing too much on this." He fielded her dismayed stare and lifted a hand. "Hear me out, Leslie. There have been little signs. I mentioned just today that you don't drop in at my office as often as you used to do; my employees have commented on it. We've all grown quite used to seeing you walk in and sit for a while to talk with me. You've had this habit for years now, and it made me feel that I was included. And for someone who has spent so much of his life feeling _ex_cluded, by everyone from schoolmates to his own father, it was an exhilarating feeling, just to feel that I belonged and that someone cared enough about me to want me to feel that way.

"Now I sense you're preoccupied with this upcoming change in the island's future. I know it bothers you immensely, but let's face it—there's nothing any of us can do about it. And when that includes Mr. Roarke, there's nothing more we can do except to prepare ourselves for it, readjust the best we can, and then learn to live with it once it occurs. I think you're beginning to accustom yourself to this pending wrench in your life, but you've begun neglecting certain other aspects of it in the process. Look what happened when we were still waiting for Anastasia. It's possible that your brooding may have contributed to her early birth." He cradled her face when the shocked, hurt look bloomed across it. "Please, stop taking everything so hard, so to heart. We both know Anastasia's fine now, a thriving and healthy baby. And you didn't set out to deliberately cause any problems; I think it was simply your body's natural response, for whatever reasons. But it's not so much Anastasia who's affected by this; she's young enough yet to need you nearly around the clock, so you pay her more attention, strictly out of necessity. But the other children and I are beginning to pay a price. Haven't you seen how they've been coming to me first, lately, with problems and complaints and even accomplishments? Not two weeks ago Karina came to me and recited the alphabet in full, flawlessly, and in both English and _jordiska_...and you never even knew about it. She didn't do the same for you, and I think she sensed you had other things on your mind and wouldn't have given it the praise it deserved.

"Susanna and Tobias feel the same—perhaps you're aware now that they too are shying away from you—and I might remind you that my staff have yet to meet Anastasia. It's all little things, Leslie, but little things add up over time. I see why Mr. Roarke feels that you've placed all your attention and energies on this job. Leslie, I know you love it—the job, your home, your life here—but if it has to change, try to work with it, and for fate's sake, give the rest of us a chance to help you, to look for alternatives and solutions. Stop shutting us out, and stop being so discouraged when our first attempts don't seem to be the ideal answers to the problem. It's an enormous upheaval, and it will take time."

She nodded and leaned toward him; he gathered her in against him, wrapping his arms around her. "Well, Mr. Roarke, have I covered everything," the prince inquired with humor, "or do you have something to add?"

"You've done an excellent job of articulating your concerns, Christian," Roarke said with a smile, "but I'll admit to having at least one more of my own. Leslie, while I am well aware of, and sympathetic to, your reaction to the tribunal's actions here, I still feel I must ask you exactly how important it is that you remain here on this island. What will happen should you find yourself having to leave? And if you are able to stay, if Rogan decides to keep you on as his assistant...will you feel that you've attained some sort of victory, and only then think that your life is full?"

Leslie squinted at him. "Wait a minute...I think you're trying to ask me if I'm going to be resentful and brooding and moody all the time if we end up leaving."

Roarke nodded. "I know you think of Fantasy Island as your home, but you're not the only one who ever had to permanently leave the place you call home and make a life somewhere else, particularly somewhere quite far away. We don't have the time to go into this just now, and it's really an issue you and Christian must work out between you. But do you truly believe that the life of a princess would be so foreign to you? Do you honestly think that your position as my assistant gives your life its only real definition? Because, despite what some cultures would have you believe, your occupation, your career, should not by any means be the driving force in your life. Your job is not you, Leslie Susan. If you should find yourself living in your husband's country, you're most likely to be thrust into the very public role of being a princess of that country. This may not involve working for a living."

Christian chuckled. "For a long period in my life I worked quite hard for a living, yes...but I was fortunate to be able to do something I truly loved. However, let me make it clear right now that if I had to make a choice between my business and my family, you and the children would come first, no questions, no doubts. I'd turn my back on all I've built in these years without hesitation, because I'd far rather have you and our children."

Leslie had spent a full ten seconds gawking at him in wonder before Roarke prompted gently, "Can you say the same, Leslie?"

She stared at Roarke now, looking thunderstruck, her eyes wide as gradual understanding began to dawn. "You mean...you mean _this_ is what it was coming down to, all this time? What really means the most to me and what choice I'd make if I had to?"

"You may very well have to, my darling," Christian said softly, kissing her forehead. "If you have to think that hard about it—"

"No, I don't have to think about it," Leslie interrupted, snapping her spine straight and giving him a sharp look. "Let me tell you something right now, Christian Enstad, before you draw any more hasty conclusions. I know what I'd choose, and I know it because I said the same thing once to none other than Hachiro Tokita. If I had to choose between my job and my family, dammit, Christian, it's you and the kids, hands down. Like you said, no questions, no doubts, no hesitation. Do you believe me?"

Christian grinned, and even Roarke began to grin as well; the prince leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on Leslie's lips. "I certainly do believe you, my Rose—you delivered that too fiercely for it to be anything but the truth." He snickered. "To be honest, the clincher for me was hearing you say you had told Hachiro Tokita." Leslie rolled her eyes, and they all began to laugh.

Just about then Rogan emerged from the time-travel room, and they looked around when he stopped there with the door still open. "Och, what goes on here?" he asked.

"Nothing that concerns you," Christian assured him, chuckling.

"Took you long enough to come out of there, cousin," Leslie remarked, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "What in the world were you doing back there, anyway?"

"Tryin' to find me way back to the damn time portal," Rogan grunted, throwing Roarke an accusing look. "Ye forgot to tell me where the hell ye put it."

Roarke sighed in a long-suffering manner that made Christian and Leslie start to laugh again. "Rogan, really...I clearly recall telling you last evening when you and I were going over the launch procedure. Perhaps next time you should write these things down and keep the list in your pocket—surely those decadent jeans you persist in wearing have at least one or two of those."

Rogan growled. "Are ye really, really sure ye shouldn't just skip me an' start trainin' Rory straightaway? Sure an' that tribunal full o'rotters'll be hearin' from me about this whole barkin' mad business. An' ye, cousin, don't be tellin' me _ye'd_ know where the portal was. If ye do, then ye can take over this damned fantasy with me blessin'."

"Rogan, Rogan..." Roarke shook his head and turned to Christian and Leslie, consulting his gold pocket watch. "Leslie, I believe this would be a good time to find Mr. Matney and your friends, and try to make some progress on that fantasy. Christian, you're more than welcome to lend whatever assistance you think you can. I'm afraid now I need to refresh Rogan's memory in certain matters."

Leslie, giggling, got to her feet and extended a hand to Christian. "Come on, my love, I think that's a gentle dismissal."

They walked out and started down the lane in the direction of the bungalows, hand in hand. "It's been a long time since I heard Rogan's brogue emerge that strongly," Christian observed lightly. "An indicator of serious stress if I ever heard one."

"All that's left is for him to start cursing in Irish Gaelic," Leslie agreed through a giggle, and they both laughed, heading for Colin Matney's bungalow.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - June 27, 2009

When they arrived and knocked, it was Myeko who answered. "Oh, hi, you two," she said, grinning. "I happened to be standing beside the door—just got here myself. We're about to head on over to the hotel and see if we can corner at least one of the guys there."

"How exactly do you plan to do this?" Christian asked. "As I understand it, there's no love lost between any of them. Do you truly think you can get even one of them to reminisce about his Shock Treatment days without rancor?"

Myeko shrugged. "Probably not, but it's worth a try. I mean, look—this poor guy paid half a mint to come here and see if he could make his fantasy come true, and Mr. Roarke's letting him have his shot at it. The least we can do is help out."

Christian snickered. "It's difficult to argue with that."

Leslie grinned and added, "So where are Camille and Mr. Matney?"

"Comin' out," said Camille's voice, and the door opened fully to reveal her and Colin Matney, whose mouth dropped open at sight of Christian. Camille looked surprised too. "Hi, Christian. Are you here by choice, or because somebody made you do it?"

"If this hadn't intrigued me, for some reason I'm certain I'll never know, I wouldn't be here," Christian assured her. "Mr. Roarke seems to think that Leslie's presence is necessary in order to prevent such undesirable events as bloodshed and murder."

"You a fan, Prince?" Colin Matney asked, sounding awed.

"No, I'm not, but one of my nephews was for some time. At any rate, if we're all about to try to catch one of these men, perhaps we'd better go."

Matney walked ahead with Camille; Myeko hung back a few paces to talk to Christian and Leslie. "What do you think this guy's chances are of succeeding?"

"Who knows?" said Leslie, shrugging. "Could be anything. We've seen some really wild stuff, totally improbable stuff, actually happen. Not that it doesn't take effort, of course, but I wouldn't rule it out completely. If it's been a couple decades since the band split up, maybe time's mellowed at least one or two of them."

"We can always hope," Myeko agreed, sighing. "One other thing I'm worried about is what Jimmy's going to think. Camille's spent her whole afternoon with our fan-boy friend there, and I get the feeling that's gonna create some friction."

"Jimmy could always join the party," Leslie wisecracked. "The more of us there are, the less chance there is of any mayhem."

Myeko snorted; Christian and Leslie grinned at each other. "I think we should check with Camille, just in case," Myeko said. "Somebody mentioned you picked up one of them at the plane dock earlier today."

"Yeah, I can't remember his name—either the real one or the stage one—but he seemed nice enough. The hotel grounds really impressed him. Made me wonder what's going to happen to them after Father leaves, because Rogan's been resort landscaper almost ever since he and Julie got married."

"Oh man...yeah," Myeko said, rolling her eyes. "He'll hate having to give up that job, won't he? Now there's a job you could apply for, Leslie."

"Are you kidding? With my black thumb? Rogan'd drop dead of a massive heart attack the second I suggested it. Anyway, something tells me he'll find a way to keep his hand in all the horticultural stuff even after he has to...to take over." She cleared her throat. "Enough of this. We're almost there...let's see what we can find out."

They found out more, in fact, than they had bargained for when they walked into the lobby and discovered two older men standing right in the middle of the space, facing off, looking ready to trade blows. The clerk behind the front desk looked frantic; when she recognized Leslie, she cried, "Miss Leslie! Tell them they have to stop!"

Her voice brought Jimmy Omamara's head around the doorjamb from the back office; his eyes went wide at what he saw, and he retracted his head and vanished, only to reappear from the nearby door marked "Personnel Only". "Hey, hey, what's going on out here?"

"What's _he_ doing here?" both men demanded simultaneously, pointing at each other.

"I presume both of you are staying here in the hotel," Jimmy began.

"They are," Leslie said, pausing a few feet away and folding her arms over her chest. Everyone stared at her, and she threw censorious looks at the two guests. "I can see the two of you recognize each other, and I suspect at least two more of us here do too. Maybe you should introduce yourselves and explain how you know each other."

"I wish I _didn't_ know that bas...that jerk," one of them muttered, catching himself as if embarrassed to curse in front of women. "Princess, when you came to get me from the plane this morning, you forgot to tell me this guy was gonna be here."

"Names, please," Leslie urged.

"Bill Wade," muttered the first man grudgingly.

"Ron Wellborn," said the second man, still wearing his ANARCHY NOW! shirt and now reeking of cigarettes; Leslie suspected he'd just come in from a smoke. "Throw him out. I was here first."

"Check for their names in the guest database," Jimmy told the desk clerk, who did a quick search and confirmed that both men were paying hotel guests. "I'm not throwing anybody out. As long as they paid for their stay, they have a perfect right to be here."

"Guys...can't we just, you know, talk, maybe? Just for a while?" broke in Colin Matney, as if he had finally remembered his mission and realized he was letting a golden opportunity slide through his fingers. "It's been a long time, y'know. No reason you couldn't at least treat each other civilly."

"Or else I'll throw you both out," Jimmy added meaningfully.

Wellborn and Wade glowered at each other, but to everyone's surprise, they gave in, albeit with great reluctance. Colin Matney urged them along into the currently empty dining room, at which point Jimmy noticed who had accompanied Leslie in. "Holy paradise. What in heck are you three doing here—especially you, Camille?"

She grinned. "C'mon, Jimmy, don't you recognize those two rabble-rousers? They used to be part of Shock Treatment, and I know you know what a big fan of theirs I always was. Those guys were Electrifier and The Rebel."

Jimmy stared at her. "You gotta be kidding me. Those two old geezers? Anyway, you always had a thing for the singer, if I remember right. Don't tell me, he's here someplace too, is he?" His expression grew suspicious at sight of Camille's anticipatory grin. "Oh crap. You don't mean to tell me the whole damn band's here."

"They should be," Leslie said.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "And probably all staying right here in my hotel too. Who do I sue when they start trying to throw each other down the stairs or drown each other in the hotel pool? Is this somebody's damn fantasy?"

"Yeah, his," said Leslie, gesturing after Colin Matney, who was talking three miles a second at the two disgruntled former band members.

"Great. Just great. Just what this place needs...a bunch of old-fart glam-rock party boys who hate each other's guts." Jimmy shook his head, then took in Myeko and Christian, both of whom were looking on with enormous amusement. "I suppose you're here to see if you can get a big article in the _Chronicle_, but damn if I can figure out what you're doing here, Christian. I didn't think these guys were your musical taste."

"They aren't. I'm here merely to reinforce Leslie's authority so that the attempted murder you just mentioned has less chance of taking place," Christian said, chuckling.

Jimmy looked slightly less disgruntled. "That so, huh? Well, I guess you might as well get to it. Not that I think it's gonna do much good, especially when the other three guys find out each other and those two are here. Might have to call the cops, because at that point you'll be outnumbered."

"Optimist," Myeko said cheerfully. "Well, come on, before those two dumbbells in the dining room have enough time to decide they can flatten poor old Colin and then have a good go at each other. C'mon, Camille, time to work your charm on 'em."

"Aw, hell," Jimmy muttered, watching his wife make her eager way to the dining room with Myeko right behind her. "Christian, I hope one of Leslie's old idols never comes to this island, or you'll be persona non grata for a weekend."

"Oh, it's already happened," said Christian. "I never had a problem with it. My Rose, we'd better get in there so you can do the job Mr. Roarke assigned to you. Don't worry, Jimmy. If we think you need to bring in reinforcements, I'll send you a quick text."

"Gee, thanks," Jimmy grunted, rolled his eyes again and retreated through the personnel door to his office. Christian, laughing softly, flattened a hand between Leslie's shoulder blades and guided her into the dining room.

"I really gotta tell you, it's just beyond cool to see you guys here," Camille was saying as they walked in. "You know, I've been a Shock Treatment fan since I was around thirteen or so. I mean, I'm sure I'm not the only one, but considering how long it's been since you guys split up, it's a privilege for somebody who's been a fan as long as I have."

"I was a fan right from the beginning," Colin Matney jumped in, as if not to be outdone. "You guys, man, you knew how to _rock_. You let it all hang out, and you held nothin' back..._nothin'!"_ He was beaming, while Wade and Wellborn stared at him as though he were growing a fourth head. "And I'd bet anything that you've all still got it. I'd've given anything to see you guys in concert. What a great time that would've been! You know my favorite song? 'Flames of Hellfire', man, that was the best. You shoulda seen me in my room as a kid, rockin' out on a tennis racket, playin' air guitar like a rock god..." Matney threw his head and torso back, bent his knees, and began slashing a hand up and down in ever-widening arcs, making guitar-note noises, as he lost himself in his own little daydream. Wade and Wellborn were gaping at him; Christian stood staring with an amazed half-grin; and Myeko, Camille and Leslie all had to work at not exploding with laughter, which was harder when they exchanged glances and noticed one another's reactions.

"There she is," somebody shouted from the dining-room entrance, and all activity ceased, heads whipping around to see another older man standing there pointing straight at Leslie. "I knew if I couldn't track down Roarke, his daughter'd do. I got a bone to pick with you, you hear me? I just saw..." His voice trailed off as he took in the rest of the group, and they saw disbelief fill his face at sight of Wade and Wellborn. "Aw, sh..."

His curse was overridden by Wellborn's enraged scream. _"Irizarry?_ You piece of..."

"What the hell are you doing here?" roared Wade, leaping to his feet.

"Hey, guys, no," Camille cried, grabbing one of the newcomer's arms and trying to tug him aside. "Howling Mark, no, please—"

"I told you if I ever saw your ugly mug again, I'd smash it in," Wellborn shouted, "and that's exactly what I'm gonna do!" He charged directly for Mark Irizarry, both fists waving.

"Knock it off!" Leslie screamed, shocked to find her voice was all but lost in the melee. The three former bandmates were grabbing at each other now, pulling hair, kicking, trying to throw punches; Matney, Camille and even Myeko were tugging ineffectually at them, and Leslie moaned aloud when two more older men appeared in the doorway and stopped to gape at the scene before wading right in to get their share of it.

"Should I send that text now?" Christian inquired dryly.

"Dammit, Christian Enstad," Leslie yelled, already heading for the mob scene in what she knew was likely to be a futile attempt to defuse it. Christian shrugged, pulled out his phone and tapped some buttons.

By the time the police arrived, Jimmy had come out, along with the entire staff of the hotel's restaurant and whoever was still left from the housekeeping team that late in the day. Despite their efforts at breaking up the fight, there were several broken chairs and overturned tables, and a few floral centerpieces had rolled around the floor and scattered flowers and petals across the carpet. The members of Shock Treatment seemed to have worn themselves out with their brawl and all groaned in disbelief when the cops prodded them up off the floor, handcuffed all five of them and marched them out on Jimmy's orders.

"Did you really have to do that?" Camille demanded of her husband.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Camille, look at the mess they made!" exploded Jimmy, pointing at the tables and chairs. "Just because it's your old headbanging idols from back in the Me Decade, don't expect me to be sympathetic!" He shook his head in disgust. "I've gotta call Mr. Roarke. Hey, Christian, thanks for sending me that text. You okay, Leslie?"

"I'm fine," Leslie said with a disgusted sigh, "but I could've used a megaphone."

Jimmy snorted. "I'll try to put that on my next shopping list. And you..." He turned to Colin Matney, whose face was gray with disillusionment. "Next time you want to host a reunion for a bunch of your hoary old idols, do it someplace besides my hotel, willya?" With that he strode out, shaking his head.

"Now what do we do?" Myeko asked, still staring after the rock musicians.

"We regroup," said Camille, noticed their expressions and coughed once or twice. "As it were. I mean..."

"I'm going back to the main house and take something for this headache and my sore throat," muttered Leslie. "Mr. Matney, I think you should meet Father and me at the town jail in about an hour. Have fun writing your story, Myeko."

Christian caught up with her as she headed out of the hotel with a hand rubbing her forehead. "Pay attention to where you're walking," he admonished, catching her free hand in his. "Well, I have to say, I've never seen the likes of that before."

"You have too," she said, throwing him a look. "Back when Barbara Verdon was getting hers from Prince Marcolo and a whole supper club full of entertainers."

"That wasn't a brawl," Christian pointed out. "It was a large crowd, yes, but they were airing legitimate grievances; they weren't fighting."

"Semantics," muttered Leslie.

"Could be," said Myeko's voice from behind them, and Christian and Leslie paused to let her catch up. "But hey...let's look at the bright side. Those five nutballs all got arrested just now, right? That means they're all in the same place at the same time. And as I just pointed out to your buddy Colin back there, they're not only all stuck together in one room—if not one jail cell—they're locked up in there and can't run off. It'd be the perfect time for him to go in there and plead his case." She grinned. "I think Camille's determined to help him right through to the bitter end, now that Jimmy's put himself in the doghouse with her after his reaction to what happened."

"I daresay he had a point," said Christian with a raised brow. "They did cause a good bit of damage to the dining room."

"True," agreed Myeko, grinning, "but it's probably the most exciting thing that's happened in there for years. Leslie, are you really gonna tell Mr. Roarke about this?"

"He'll find out anyway," Leslie pointed out. "He might as well hear it from us, so he can get the story from firsthand witnesses. Come on, so I can do something about this headache. I still think Father'll have something to say to those crazies."

She was right: an hour later, Roarke, Leslie and Colin Matney were in the police station in town, with the five members of Shock Treatment going to absurd lengths to keep as much distance from one another as possible despite all sharing the same jail cell. The sheriff, deputy and constables had cleared the room to give them a bit of privacy. "Disgraceful," Roarke pronounced, staring at the band members. "Nearly from the moment you discovered you were all here, your conduct has been nothing short of disgraceful."

"Why the hell are we all here anyway, Mr. Roarke?" demanded Gordon Hammer, a somewhat heavyset man whose good looks were still evident behind the jowls and the scraggly beard that ran the gamut from brilliant red to a sort of rusty white. "It's not like it wasn't common knowledge that we all wanted to kill each other when we ended Shock Treatment—that's why we all walked away and got as far from each other as we could get, since murder's illegal and all."

"You might have remembered that when you met in the hotel dining room," retorted Roarke with a glare.

"Yeah, well, whose fault is it we're all here now?" demanded Ron Wellborn.

"His," said Roarke and Leslie in unison, turning to Colin Matney.

"Oh yeah," Bill Wade remarked, a slow, mocking grin spreading across his face, "the teenage air-guitar god. Who'd you model yourself on, anyway—me or Hammer or the cancer-stick addict over there?"

Matney stared at him in hurt disbelief, then blinked when Peter Boniface burst out laughing. "No matter which one of you he aped, he'd've still sucked." Wade gave him a slap in the back of the head, and Boniface promptly retorted with a raised fist.

_"Gentlemen,"_ Roarke interjected then, with a glare that froze both men where they sat; slowly Boniface lowered his fist.

But Matney had clearly had enough. "You know, Mr. Roarke, this was the stupidest idea I ever had," he muttered. "Sorry I wasted my money and your time." He slunk out of the police station, head hanging, and let the door slam behind him; Leslie watched him scuffle across the town square, kicking up dust, then turned to the band members.

"What a bunch of losers," she commented, shaking her head. "I'd say more, but it's time to feed Anastasia. Excuse me, Father." He nodded, and she left.

"Look, Mr. Roarke...what're we really doing here?" Mark Irizarry wanted to know. "I haven't seen any of these idiots in almost twenty years, not even one of them—and all of a sudden I get these tickets for a free trip to Fantasy Island, and next thing I know I see all four of these twits here right along with me. What gives?"

"What'd that guy mean about wasting his money and your time?" Hammer asked.

"Colin Matney has been an avid fan of your former band since its big break some thirty-three years ago," Roarke informed them. "Surely he must have mentioned that to you at some point." The five men looked at each other. "He explained to me this morning that he has collected all manner of memorabilia connected with you across the years—all your record albums, every magazine article and poster he could obtain, whatever merchandise your fan clubs sold, even your autographs—but somehow never got the chance to see you perform live. It seems that, as with a great many of your current and former fans, he was deeply disappointed when you gentlemen elected to end your working relationship, and it was Mr. Matney's wish to bring you back together long enough for just one more show together, so that he could have the privilege of seeing you live."

"Well, dangit," said Boniface, looking bewildered. "Why the hell's he so interested in seein' us old farts onstage again? We're has-beens. We've been has-beens longer'n we were together. We probably forgot all our old songs, even the hits. If we tried to get back up on a stage again, we'd be laughed right off this island, and everywhere else on earth too."

"Maybe you, you hack," sniped Irizarry, "but for your information, I've been a music teacher in a Las Vegas high school since we broke up. Maybe you can't play the drums anymore, but I can still sing."

"Maybe _he_ can't play, but I still strum the strings sometimes for my grandkids," Wade revealed, shrugging when the others peered at him. "I mean, hell. Music was good to us. It kinda seemed like a shame not to run through a song every once in a while."

"Precisely why did you split up the band at all?" asked Roarke.

"Differences of opinion," said Hammer, shrugging, glancing around the group once before focusing on Roarke. "Grunge was starting to make some serious inroads on the charts, and a couple of the guys here thought we could go that route and make the band last a little longer. They had kids they still had to put through college, I guess. My boy was all grown up and moved out, so I felt like retiring, and I said so. Grunge was for the young kids anyway. I figured we might as well make room for the new crop."

"Hell no, we coulda kept on goin'," Wellborn argued. "We weren't washed up yet. It wasn't all that different from what we were already doin'."

That touched off an argument that died only after they became aware, one by one, that Roarke was watching them in stony silence. When they finally quieted, looking a bit embarrassed, he shook his head. "If all that matters to you is your own opinions, continuing the animosity and infighting, then I believe the best course of action is for me to leave you in here overnight—to prevent further damage to any more of the business establishments in the vicinity—and then send you home on tomorrow's first charter. I am afraid in the meantime, I have other business to attend to, so if you will excuse me..." He turned and left the station.

"Crap," groaned Boniface. "Now I gotta stay in here all night with you goons."

"You think I like havin' to share this little cell with you?" snarled Wellborn, and once again the band fell into another insult-laden argument.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - June 27, 2009

"Is that really all they could do?" Christian said, shaking his head and chuckling, at supper. "Far be it from me to judge; I know how it is to nurse ancient grudges. But you'd think the law of averages alone would suggest that at least one or two of them might have had enough time to want to leave all that behind."

"Doesn't seem so," Leslie said. "I'm a little surprised Colin Matney hasn't asked for his money back, but maybe he realized it was the band members who ruined his fantasy, not us. At any rate, he's pretty bummed out, and who can blame him?"

"What about Matthew Drake's fantasy?" Roarke asked after a moment's pause, turning the collective focus onto Rogan.

"Och...he's fine," Rogan grumbled. "Matter o'fact, I think he's a wee bit bored. Last I saw him, he was complainin' that the weather didn't look the least bit like rain."

Roarke, Leslie and Christian laughed. "It will, soon enough," said Roarke.

Just then Susanna asked, "Mommy, did you and Daddy go home so Magic could eat? I bet she's so, so hungry...poor kitty cat."

Leslie sighed gently; she had taken Anastasia home from the main house once she had left the police station where the members of Shock Treatment were languishing. "I did, honey, yes," she said patiently. "We already told you twice."

Susanna grinned. "Oh yeah. I just worry about her, Mommy. I wish Grandfather'd let us bring her here. She must be lonely by herself at home all day."

"She doesn't have to be lonely if we get another cat," volunteered Tobias, and when he had their attention, he added with emphasis, "A _boy_ cat."

"Oh, sheesh," mumbled Leslie, catching Christian's amused eye.

"Don't you see enough cats when you visit Anna-Kristina in Lilla Jordsö?" Christian inquired a little pointedly. "One is quite enough for us, and cats are very good at amusing themselves, for the most part. One of you will probably find her curled up on your bed, sleeping. Which reminds me, did any of you take naps today?"

"We're too old for naps, Daddy," said Karina, a scornful note in her voice.

"Oh, well, I beg your pardon, Princess Karina," retorted Christian with overdone haughtiness, making the children giggle.

"Well, we are," Tobias seconded his sister. "We're going to kindy-garden soon, and you don't take naps in kindy-garden."

"No?" queried Christian, pretending to look surprised.

"Of course not," Leslie said, playing along. "I never did when I was in kindergarten."

"Rory says they don't let you," Tobias said, nodding. "You gotta learn 'portant stuff like reading, and writing your name, and the alphabet, and counting."

Christian nodded as if greatly enlightened. "Ah, I see," he said, visibly squelching a grin, which made Leslie have to do the same, with less success.

"I already know the alphabet," Karina announced, turning to Leslie then. "Mommy, wanna hear me say the alphabet? Daddy heard me already."

"Yes, I'd love to hear it, sweetie," said Leslie expectantly, and listened as Karina recited her letters, first the 26-letter English alphabet and then the 29-letter _jordiska_ one. Leslie clapped for her when she was finished. "Beautiful! That was perfect, honey!"

"I could do that too," protested Susanna.

"Uh-_uh,"_ Tobias and Karina both shot back, making their sister's mouth drop open with outrage. Karina added smugly, "You can't say it yet 'cause you stopped watching _Katrina Kattunga_ with me. You always said you were too old for it, but you still don't know the alphabet, so that makes me smarter than you."

"You stopped watching it too," Susanna said accusingly to Tobias. "You don't know the alphabet either."

"Do so," Tobias retorted. "I just learned it on another TV show—_Sesame Street."_

"Bet you can't say it in _jordiska_ like I can," taunted Karina.

"Okay, kids, that's enough," Leslie said firmly. "Not here while we're eating. We'll see who knows what alphabets after supper, all right? Even if you don't know it, you'll still learn it when you start kindergarten. Come on and finish eating now."

She was putting Tobias and Susanna through the alphabet test in the study, feeding Anastasia as she did so, with Christian sitting nearby working on a preliminary website design and Roarke at his desk handling some accounting, when there was a knock on the door. Roarke glanced up, cast a quick look at Leslie, over whom Christian calmly draped a blanket in such a way as to give her some privacy but allow her to keep an eye on the baby, and called, "Come in."

Colin Matney came inside, carrying a suitcase. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything, Mr. Roarke," he said, "but I think it's time I headed for home."

"The last charter for the day has already left," Roarke said apologetically. "I'm afraid you'll have to remain at least for tonight, Mr. Matney."

"Oh, shoot," Matney muttered, flopping dispiritedly into one of the leather chairs, drooping over it like limp noodles. "That caps a perfect weekend, all right."

"It's only half over, Mr. Matney," Leslie pointed out, while the children watched with wide eyes and Christian returned to his sketching, though with noticeably less attention on his work. "You're giving up already?"

"Don't see what else I can do," Matney said, lifting his arms a little as if to throw them into the air, then letting them fall again. "I didn't realize the bad blood between those guys was _that_ bad. They're probably sitting in that jail cell right now trying to think of ways to poison each other." Christian glanced up briefly at that remark and quirked a half-smile, as if reminded of something, before making a few notes on his posterboard in _jordiska_.

"I doubt it's that bad, Mr. Matney," Roarke said, smiling as well. "It's true they are still in their cell, but I suspect a night in forced company with one another, under the watchful eye of the local law, will give them a chance to think things over."

Matney scoffed, and Leslie said, "What else are they going to do in there? They don't have TV to watch or magazines to read, or anything like that, and nobody to talk to but each other. With murder being illegal, as the bearded guy said, they don't have any other choice. They'll either come to some sort of understanding, or just clam up all night long simply to keep the peace and get through the night."

Matney eyed her, then looked at Roarke, who nodded. "Wait till tomorrow morning," he suggested. "Let yourself have a rest, and perhaps tomorrow you'll have a new outlook."

"Okay," Matney mumbled, climbing wearily to his feet, "I guess there's nothing else I can do anyway. Thanks for your time, Mr. Roarke." He nodded to Leslie, picked up his suitcase and departed.

Leslie felt Anastasia let go just as Matney pulled the door shut behind him, and looked down to see the baby yawn, showing a milk-coated tongue. "Looks like someone's ready for bed," she mused and glanced at the clock. "Almost bedtime for you three, too."

"We're not tired yet!" Susanna protested, seconded by Karina and Tobias.

"Well, your baby sister is, and I'm starting to get pretty tired myself," Christian told them, setting his posterboard aside. "I think at least you three should get into your pajamas. Come on, I'll take you up to do that. Say good night to Grandfather." Leslie, smiling, pulled her clothing back into place and lifted Anastasia to her shoulder to burp her, watching her husband gather their older children together, troop them over to bid Roarke good night, and then herd them upstairs.

The phone rang while Leslie was still patting Anastasia's back, and Roarke picked it up, then looked at Leslie with surprise. "It's Camille. Do you wish to take it now?"

Leslie made a face. "Well, Anastasia hasn't—" Just then the baby did burp, and she grinned. "On second thought, I'll be right there." She shifted the infant on her shoulder, got up and took the receiver from a chuckling Roarke. "Hi, Camille, what's up at this hour?"

"Me," said Camille. "And I happen to be over at the police station. I just got done talking to our ex-VIPs. They're still shooting flamethrower looks at each other, but at least they're talking without slinging quite as many insults."

"Wow, at that rate they might be exchanging formal pleasantries by morning," said Leslie. "What exactly are you doing over there?"

"Well, Jimmy and I had kind of a knock-down-drag-out over what they did to his dining room, and I admit to feeling pretty slighted that all he cared about was some damaged furniture while I was worried about whether these guys are gonna get off the island without killing each other. And considering the fact that their trips here were free—that _is_ what Mr. Roarke said, isn't it?—I figured they owed us something for that. I mean, let's face it, a trip here isn't cheap, and getting to come here free suggests a certain largesse that you don't see much these days. So I stomped on over here all the way from our house, just to ream those guys out. I let them know exactly how much Colin Matney, and I, and Myeko's brothers, and about three zillion other Shock Treatment fans laid out for all their albums and merchandise and fan-club membership fees and live shows and all that other crapola we bought over the years. I reminded them that all us fans made them rich and saw to it that they lived the sort of life we could only dream about, and gave them a chance to live it up, and set them up for life, all that baloney. I also explained that I personally was feeling pretty slighted by their rude behavior and their refusal to even say hi to each other, and I told them about Colin's fantasy, and a bunch of other stuff...mostly just some personal grievances like how that damn Ron Wellborn never bothered sending me an autographed picture even though I wrote five times asking for one..."

"Okay, I get it, I get it. You gave them a few pieces of your mind. Do you think it did any good, or can you tell yet?"

"Well, at least they shut up and quit cussing each other out, and I think they actually listened to me. The clincher is that I told them that I have a newspaper-reporter friend who could absolutely destroy their reputation by publicizing my story of their juvenile-delinquent activities here. The whole thrust of the article would revolve around how dumb it was that these five old goats couldn't bury the hatchet and shake hands after all these years of being apart. Life's too short, and all those other clichés. By the time I got done with them, their lower teeth were scraping the floor. I figured I should quit while I was ahead, and walked out. And that's when I sat down over here on the bench in the town square and called you to tell you all this."

"Aha. Well, maybe a little righteous wrath will give those goofballs something to chew on overnight," Leslie said.

"Let's hope so. Like I said, they owe the fans something. So maybe there'll be some good news tomorrow. I'm going over there first thing in the morning just to see whether they've decided to repent, but for now I guess I better go see if Jimmy's willing to talk to me or if I need to let him stew overnight."

Leslie laughed. "Well, good luck—and thanks for the effort. I hope it got somewhere, because Colin Matney slunk over here less than half an hour ago and said he was ready to leave. The only reason he's still here is that the next plane out isn't till tomorrow morning, but it leaves at eight—so if you want to keep him from skipping the island at least till you find out what kind of mood the headbangers are in, you'll have to set your alarm."

"Got it—thanks for the warning. Want me to call you and let you know what the story is, or just wait?"

"I guess we'll wait. If it works, Mr. Matney's as likely as not to show up here and tell us himself. But you may have to take the news over to him if it's good, so like I said, before eight o'clock. And again, good luck."

"Thanks. Talk to you tomorrow." Camille hung up, and Leslie put the receiver back on the hook, summarizing for Roarke what her friend had just done.

Roarke laughed. "Let's hope Jimmy isn't aware just how closely Camille is working with Mr. Matney on his fantasy. Why don't you go ahead and see that the children are settled for the night, and then come back down; I have a few things I want to go over with you before you and Christian retire. They're business-related, so it's nothing urgent, but I felt it best to do so now while we have the opportunity."

She nodded and headed upstairs with the baby; Christian had succeeded in getting the triplets into their pajamas and was supervising a noisy mass tooth-brushing session in the bathroom. He smiled when she topped the stairway. "Did she finish at last?"

"Yep, she's ready to go down for the night. I see the assembly line is as sloppy as ever." She grinned at Christian's laughing nod. "Let me get Anastasia to sleep, and I'll come in and help you out if you need it."

It took another half hour, and two stories read to the triplets, before all four children were finally asleep for the night; Christian and Leslie pulled the door to the TV room almost closed and moved quietly down the hall. "Did I hear you on the phone earlier?" Christian asked in a low voice.

Leslie nodded, grinned and gave him the same summary she'd given Roarke. "I guess we'll see what happens tomorrow morning. I wouldn't make any bets though, particularly since something tells me this wouldn't be the first time those guys have seen the interior of a jail cell for assorted rowdy adventures."

Christian snickered. "I'm sure it's not. Well, let's get your father's business taken care of, so we can get some sleep. My brain is ready to close down on me as I stand."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § - June 28, 2009

Leslie was sitting up in bed feeding Anastasia and yawning every few minutes, and Christian sat beside her with one arm around her and the other hand smoothing the baby's sparse hair, when they both distinctly heard a knock on the door and looked at each other in amazement. "At this hour?" Christian asked.

Leslie offered a sleepy grin. "Ten to one it's Camille. I warned her she'd have to be up early to prevent Colin Matney leaving...I guess she took it to heart."

"Seems so," Christian muttered. "It's barely seven."

"That late?" murmured Leslie through another yawn, and he chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Sorry, my love, I don't mean to keep doing that."

"You have good reason; you were up with Anastasia three times last night. If I could have fed her for you, I would have." He grinned at her drowsy giggle and glanced down at Anastasia, whose eyes—still dark blue, but beginning to acquire gold flecks—were trained on him. _"Hallå då, lilla du, som vaknar sin mor gjennom hela natten,"_ Christian murmured teasingly. "All night long, every time she cried, I thought at first it was a fire siren."

"I _thought_ she'd started getting louder," Leslie agreed, and they both laughed softly; in response, Anastasia's eyes narrowed a bit and her mouth widened, though she didn't stop nursing. A giggle erupted from the baby's throat, muffled though it was, and her delighted parents praised her for it.

Susanna appeared in the doorway and climbed onto the bed. "How come she eats so much?" she complained sleepily, while Anastasia tried to twist her head to stare at her older sister without letting go of Leslie. "She made me stop having a really fun dream last night. I was dreaming I was a fairy and I could fly anywhere I wanted, and I had a big pet unicorn and a wand and a crown and a glittery dress and everything."

"Oh goodness," Leslie said, half laughing. "I guess I'd be mad if someone woke me out of a dream like that, too."

Just then Roarke appeared in the doorway; Susanna jumped off the bed to hug him, and he returned it, smoothing her sleep-tangled hair. "Leslie, Camille is here; she says she has some news in regard to the band members, but she prefers you be present to hear it."

"Well, since the princess here is busy with her breakfast, she might have to cool her heels for a few more minutes," Leslie said humorously. Roarke chuckled, agreed to let Camille know, and left them in privacy.

By the time Christian and Leslie came down with Anastasia, who was still wide awake, and the triplets, Camille was pacing the floor behind the loveseat. "Oh, there you are. You are not gonna believe this. Electrifier and The Shark posted bail and they were let out of jail this morning...and left the other three guys stewing in there. They were ranting and screaming and cussing like you wouldn't believe when I got there. I guess I walked in right after those two were released."

"There goes the reconciliation," Leslie said, sighing.

Camille nodded. "Looks that way. I couldn't get any of the three who were left to shut up long enough to tell me anything, so I had to get it out of the deputy."

"Electrifier and The Shark are...which ones now?" Christian asked.

"Mr. Bill Wade and Mr. Gordon Hammer," Roarke supplied. "As a matter of fact, I've just placed phone calls to both men at the hotel, and they should be arriving within the next few minutes. Camille, have you seen Mr. Matney at all?"

"I went over to his bungalow right after I found out Electrifier and The Shark got out. He's still determined to leave on the first plane out, so maybe you better have him come over here too, Mr. Roarke. At the very least we can find out what's going on."

"I've done that," Roarke assured her. "Christian, Leslie, my apologies...breakfast is late this morning, and the children are not very pleased, but it appears that Mariki and two of the kitchen staff have come down with something and there is only one worker to take care of chores in there. But by the time we conclude our meeting with our guests, I am told the meal should be ready, and I should add that the triplets have already claimed their seats at the table and are waiting...none too patiently."

"This is going to be a long day," Christian said, blowing out a breath. "Perhaps I can lend a hand with some of the breakfast preparations. Don't look at me that way—how do you think I ate anything during all those years between Johanna's death and Arnulf marrying me off to Marina?" This he aimed at Camille before grinning and heading for the kitchen.

"Restaurants," Camille yelled after him, and got only a laugh in reply before she turned to Leslie. "Seriously—he can cook?"

Leslie grinned. "He's pretty good, too, you know. Anyway, did the deputy explain anything other than that those guys posted bail? I didn't know they had even declared it."

"A precaution," Roarke said, "in view of the group's storied history of hotel-room damages through the years they were active as a band."

"If they have money to post bail, they have money to pay for their stay here," Leslie commented, carrying Anastasia to the desk and glancing over the stacks of mail that sat to one side. "I think the free ride should be rescinded, effective right now."

Roarke smiled. "Let's find out what our two guests have to say first."

Wade and Hammer showed up a few minutes later, looking thoroughly surprised at sight of Roarke behind the desk and Leslie nearby, with her two-month-old baby in her lap. Anastasia stared, unblinking, at the strangers as they sat down and peered at Roarke. "Did you want us for something?" Hammer asked.

"It's my understanding you two gentlemen posted bail and were released," Roarke said in a pleasant tone. "Tell me, at what amount had it been set?"

"Twenty-five hundred each," said Wade, a little guardedly.

"For all five of you?" Roarke prompted.

"That's what they said behind the desk, yeah," Hammer confirmed. "Bill here and I couldn't afford to spring the other guys, just ourselves."

"You were actually going to do that?" Camille asked sarcastically from her chair.

"I bet they couldn't have afforded it if we were charging them for their stay here," said Leslie, "which I really think we ought to do. You know, I realize you and your former bandmates are entitled to your own lives; but you should also understand that your past isn't going to magically vanish into outer space just because you guys all hate each other's guts enough to try to spill them. Okay, so we knew you guys wanted out by the time you broke up Shock Treatment. Fine. But you do still have fans. You probably think these people are just living in the past and trying to stir up some dumb old dead project, and you'd rather not be bothered. But is it really asking too much for the five of you to at least act like you're grown men in your sixties, instead of a bunch of catty high-school girls trying to claw each other's eyes out and thumb your noses at each other?"

"What'd we do to deserve getting stuck in the corner with dunce caps on?" Wade demanded.

Leslie rolled her eyes. "What, you mean besides fighting in the hotel dining room and breaking some chairs and ruining some floral arrangements and damaging a couple of tables? Give me a break!"

Wade flushed a little and sat back in his chair. "Yeah, all right, that wasn't the smartest thing we ever did. But whose damn fool idea was it to get all five of us here on this island where we'd have to look at each other's butt-ugly faces again? _We_ sure didn't come up with it, I can tell ya that, young lady."

"Mine," barked a furious voice, and they all looked around to see Colin Matney in the inner foyer. "Me, the guy who owned up to being the one responsible yesterday in the police station after you and your ex-friends got hauled in, remember? The dopey teenage air-guitar god? All because I still loved the stuff you guys put out back in the dark ages, and because the only thing I ever wanted was to see you guys play one last live show, so I could have the chance to rock out to your music again, only live and in person for once."

"And you really thought you'd talk us into it?" Wade said with a laugh.

"Hey, look," Leslie put in, "you and those pals of yours have the right to refuse, but it's just stupid and juvenile to make fun of the poor guy just for having the wish. Go ahead and turn him down if you want—but for crying out loud, try doing it without laughing at him or being condescending or taking potshots at each other!"

"You used to be cool," Camille remarked. "Not anymore. Now you're just a bunch of old nobodies who can't get past some ancient differences. You guys are gonna lose even the most diehard fans left and right if you can't get your act together."

"What she said," Leslie concurred with a nod.

Hammer lifted both hands. "All right, all right already. You got a hell of a mouth on you, princess." But even as he said it, his expression was one of grudging admiration. "I gotta admit, sometimes I get a little nostalgic for the old days too. It's just that there was so much bad blood by the time we called it a day, I didn't think it'd be worth getting hold of any of the other guys just to see if we wanted to put it back together for one reunion concert. I mean, damn. If the Stones can do it—and I mean, look at 'em, that collection of old fossils clunking around on stages—then how come we can't?"

Wade was staring at him. "You serious, man? Wellborn wanted to go into grunge, and Boniface thought it could stretch our career some, but you were ready to retire...and Irizarry and I were all set to hire three new guys and keep on goin' with Shock Treatment. We weren't totally washed up, not back then. But that was frickin' 1992. Now we're too old and it's too damn late." He shot Roarke a mortified look. "Besides, my grandkids'd bust their guts from laughin' if they saw me hopping around on a stage."

"Maybe yours would, but mine think I'm pretty cool, actually," Hammer said with a grin that was more self-satisfied than modest. "They'd love it."

"I don't think anybody invited your grandkids," Camille said sourly, standing up as if to leave. "Colin wanted one last show for the fans, but I guess we don't count."

"I wonder if we ever counted," Matney grumbled. "You damn losers, now you made me miss the eight-o'clock plane. I gotta tell you, this has to be the most expensive lesson I ever learned, but at least I learned it a gazillion percent. Never expect a bunch of old farts you used to think were cool to appreciate the fans they had once, especially when the old farts in question would rather be spitting on each other's graves than playing music. Sorry, Mr. Roarke, but this time I'm going over to the plane dock and I'm gonna sit there in the sun and wait for the next plane out, so I don't miss that one too."

"Hey, whoa, whoa, kid," Hammer put in, rising then. "Just a second here. I've been thinking about it, and we did have some damn good years, back in the day. The blinkin' Rolling Stones must have ten or fifteen years on us. They oughta be sittin' around collectin' Social Security, or whatever they have over in England, and gettin' senile. Instead they're clackin' their old bones across stages all over the country. Why can't we do that?"

"Because we hate each other's guts, remember?" Wade reminded him sardonically.

"Hell, Bill, listen to you. How much _do_ you hate my guts? Or Pete's, or Ron's, or Mark's? Are we really the worst thing that ever happened to you in your entire life?"

Wade slouched a little in his chair, his face taking on a somewhat surprised look. "Aw, well, no, I wouldn't go that far. I guess it's just that...well, hell, the way we split up, all fightin' over what was the best way to go and then breakin' up the band because nobody could agree on what we oughta do next. Look..." He got to his feet and regarded Hammer with an almost sheepish look. "I don't know about those other goons back in the jail, but if you're willing to see if we can remember any of the old Shock Treatment songs, I am."

Hammer grinned. "Bill, my man, you got yourself a deal." He turned to Colin Matney, whose face was slack with disbelief. "Close your mouth, kid, or flies'll think it's a hotel and start checkin' in. You wanna come over to the jail with us and talk some sense into those clowns? You too," he added to Camille, "seein' as you're a fan."

"Don't mind if I do," Camille said with a broad grin. "C'mon, Colin, now's your chance to have it out with those other turkeys and tell them exactly what's on your mind."

Matney had to laugh. "Sounds great to me. Lead on. And hey, Mr. Roarke and Leslie, thanks," he added, grinning, before following the others out the door.

"You think they'll get their concert after all?" Leslie asked Roarke with a grin.

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Roarke, grinning back. "Perhaps it's a good idea for you to check in with Christian and see whether he needs any help."

‡ ‡ ‡

Leslie had just hung up with Camille—who had called from the amusement park stage, where Shock Treatment were about to put on their first-ever reunion concert—when Rogan came in from the time-travel room, his face a mask of amazement. "You okay?" she asked, watching him come in and collapse into a chair.

"Och, aye," Rogan said, staring into space. "Who'd've thought..."

She leaned forward, staring at him. "You saw something, didn't you?"

Rogan blinked and focused on her, then grinned. "Aye, that I did. Truth be told, I always figured those stories about Ben Franklin were so much diamond dust...but damned if I didn't see for meself that this one was true, at least. He didn't exactly get hit by a giant bolt from the blue or anything like that. More like a piddly wee ribbon. But sure an' if that wasn't enough. An' our fella Drake was just as amazed as anyone I ever saw."

"Excellent, Rogan," said Roarke, who had just come in from the terrace, unnoticed by either Rogan or Leslie. "Very well done. So Mr. Drake is safely back in the present day, in his bungalow, considering what he has discovered this weekend?"

Rogan froze where he sat, and Leslie looked around the room, then peered at her cousin with amazement. "You know, I had this weird feeling something was missing..."

"Hell an' damnation, I forgot!" Rogan burst out, smacking a hand against his forehead with such vigor that even Roarke winced on his behalf. "I _forgot_ the _guest!_ Bloody divvil take me!" He began ranting at himself in Irish Gaelic, leaping to his feet and punching buttons on the electronic lock, having to repeat the sequence four times before he got it right due to his energetic self-recrimination. Leslie stared on, mouth open and stretching into a helpless grin, as Rogan plunged through the door, slamming it behind him.

"I see," Roarke mused heavily, walking slowly toward his desk and shaking his head, "that Rogan has a great deal of training yet to undergo before I dare allow him to take over full operation of the resort. How long was he here, Leslie, before I returned and made him aware that he had forgotten to bring Mr. Drake back with him?"

"Five minutes, maybe, no more than that," Leslie said, grinning. "So maybe you can just chalk it up to first-time jitters. Heck knows he had a terminal case of those."

Roarke gave her a sharp look, then shook his head again and began to laugh softly. "Perhaps so. Though I must say, I never committed _that_ particular error..."

"Are you sure?" Leslie teased, and they both laughed.

* * *

_ I'm going through ideas as I write these words, so I don't know what's coming next, but with some luck it will come out as easily as this one did. I'll also go through ideas previously given me by Misheemom, PDXWiz and Harry2, so keep looking...maybe one of yours will show up here!_


End file.
